When You're Gone
by likecominghome
Summary: Lydia hates when Stiles works night shifts.


_When you walk away, I count the steps that you take. _

She watches him in complete silence, determined to memorize the way he moves.

He's calmer than she would be in his situation, which is actually quite surprising considering his usual state of hyperactivity. Long fingers wrap around a glass of milk, his beverage of choice at night because the excess caffeine of coffee really isn't necessary. His lips curve over the edge, his eyes closing momentarily as he enjoys the taste and she sighs because he looks so at ease – so safe.

"Would you stop staring at me? It's starting to freak me out."

She blinks as she realizes her intense gaze is probably causing him to squirm.

"Sorry," she sighs, turning back to the sink and wiping down the last of the dishes from dinner, placing them carefully back in the cupboard. She turns after tossing the drying cloth on the counter, gasping in surprise when she finds Stiles standing just behind her. "You scared me. Don't do that."

He laughs softly, placing a hand on either side of the counter, boxing her in. "You know you have nothing to be worried about, right?"

"You know you're a really bad liar, right?" she replies, raising her eyebrows and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Lydia," he sighs, rubbing his palms up and down her upper arms. "This is my job. You just have to trust that I know what I'm doing."

Softening her expression, she uncrosses her arms to reach up and cup his cheeks with her palms, lightly running her thumbs over his cheekbones. "I do trust you. And you're an incredible detective. But you know what this town is like, especially at night. I have every right to be worried about you."

"I've done this before," he murmurs, locking his fingers at her lower back and pulling her into his chest. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

She lowers her hands, flattening her palms against the planes of his chest and beginning to pick at the buttons of his shirt. "I never sleep when you work night shift."

"I know," he whispers, tracing the sides of his thumbs along the edge of her spine. "But I promise, I'll come back in one piece."

"You can't make a promise like that," she shakes her head.

"Yes, I can," he insists. "Because all I have to do when I'm in danger is think about you and how much I need to get back to you safely and that's enough to pull me through."

She's not sure what to say, so she closes her fists around his shirt and rises to the balls of her feet, pressing her lips to kiss tenderly. He holds her close, his fingers gently massaging her back, keeping the kiss sweet for a moment before his arms wrap entirely around her petite frame and pull her flush against the length of his body. His hands travel down to her hips, lifting her easily and setting her on the countertop, where she instinctively hooks her legs around his waist.

There's no frenzy or gasping for air; they both just increase the pressure of their kisses, but keep the same depth and passion. She's trying to give him something to remember when he's gone and he's trying to make sure he never forgets.

She leans her forehead against his when they pull apart, tracing her finger over his collarbone. "Be safe."

"I always am," he lifts one side of his mouth into that crooked smile she adores so much and she rolls her eyes, but still, she ends up laughing lightly.

"I'm serious, Stiles," she looks at him seriously, the corners of her lips threatening to burst into a smile. "If you get hurt, I'll help you get better, but then I'll probably kill you for letting yourself get hurt."

"I know," he says quietly, "But I'll always come back to you."

"You better," she tugs at his tie.

Smiling, he leans down to kiss her once more before releasing himself from her grasp and turning towards the door to grab his coat.

"I love you," he calls out as he walks out the door.

She watches him leave, engraining every moment he makes into her mind before responding. "I love you more."

He pokes his head back in, his smile so wide and his eyes sparkling with so much adoration that she momentarily forgets how to breathe. Blowing her a kiss, he grins. "Not possible."

And then he's gone.

She lets out a shaky breath before she bursts into laughter. It's amazing that, after all this time, she still feels this way. She still gets butterflies when she thinks about him and blushes and the thought of his smile and generally can't wait to see him when she gets home.

Over time, however, she's come to realize how much their relationship has grown and how much a part of her he's actually become. When he leaves the room, she doesn't just miss him, she doesn't just feel sad. No, she feels as though someone has carved out a chunk of her heart and he's taken it with him. Every bone in her body aches for his return.

So this night, just like all the other ones where he worked the night shift, she distracts herself so she's not thinking about his mangled body lying in a ditch on the side of the road.

First, she cleans every square inch of their apartment. Next, she picks out half her wardrobe to donate to the less fortunate before reorganizing what's left, first my clothing type and then by color.

After her personal work is finished, she begins to grade a stack of exams, a job she would normally delegate to her teaching assistant, but she needs to keep herself busy, so does it on her own.

Four hours later, she's still not remotely tired, but she lies in bed staring at the ceiling, counting the number of times the fan rotates per minute.

Closing her eyes, she tries to fall asleep, hoping that maybe this time, it won't be so difficult. But full, sound sleep never comes, so she settles for a half sleep where she's still somewhat conscious.

She doesn't know how long she's been like that when she finally feels a soft kiss being pressed to her cheekbone. Turning over, she smiles softly as she sees Stiles throwing back the covers and crawling in beside her. "You're back!"

"All in one piece," he jokes as he scoots close to her.

She assumes her usual position, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder as she reaches up to lightly inspect his face for abrasions. She finds no visible markings and she had noticed that he was moving with ease, so she's temporarily satisfied that he's physically alright.

Mentally, well that's a whole other matter.

"Are you alright?" she asks, knowing he'll understand what she means.

He nods, tightening his arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer to his chest. "I'm fine. Just tired. Did you sleep?"

"Not much," she admits, enjoying the warmth of his chest.

"Get some rest," he whispers, lowering his lips to kiss the top of her head. "You have to be up in a few hours. Sweet dreams, sweetheart."

"They will be," she sighs happily as her eyelids flutter closed and she feels herself drifting off. "Now that you're here."


End file.
